


On the Fourth Year of Christmas

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Hannibal is an excellent gift giver, M/M, Post Fall, Will wants to show him up with a great gift, flagrant misuse of poultry, gifting fails, that's a terrible idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Every Christmas, Hannibal manages to give Will the perfect gift. This year, Will's determined to show Hannibal up with an over-the-top gift. He succeeds. The real question is whether he and Hannibal will survive the present.AKA: Dev wanted to gift some Christmas Crack to you all.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 46
Kudos: 335





	On the Fourth Year of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> My 2020 ended horribly, with the loss of my dog, who's been with me for almost 15 years. If you ever enjoyed a Buster antic I wrote, know that Soze inspired them. I haven't felt like writing, but I had an incredibly stupid idea for a Christmas story, so I tried it out with some encouragement from my beloved Ish and Mars. I hope everyone's doing well and having a wonderful holiday. 
> 
> As always, my undying love goes to Gwilbers for catching all my errors.

After four years of living with Hannibal Lecter, Will had come to terms with a lot of things. The eating people thing took some adjustment, but Will figured if he could get used to Molly’s turkey bacon, he could get used to Hannibal’s rude bruschetta. Annoyingly, Hannibal’s food was always better than anything Will had ever tasted, so he had to either admit that people really was a better protein source than beef, chicken, or pork — or acquiesce that Hannibal was just that good of a cook. Either way, Hannibal was a smug prick about it.

The smugness was another issue. Granted, when you’re good at just about everything, from vivisection to flower arrangement, it’s probably easy to be smug, but it still made Will crazy whenever Hannibal shot him that small smirk and did something perfectly. The first time they went fishing Hannibal managed to reel in a grouper while Will got sunburn on his nose and accidentally sliced the shit out of his hand with a hook. That last bit wasn’t Will’s fault — Hannibal had taken his shirt off while Will was baiting a hook. Hannibal’s bait was better, however, and Will ended up with a puncture wound, a bruised ego, and the very real impulse to shove Hannibal fucking Lecter into the ocean once more.

Still, the worst part of a life with Hannibal Lecter was the man’s absolutely supernatural attention to detail. Will couldn’t steal a choux ball or read a book without Hannibal noticing. Sometimes this attention was great. Hannibal knowing exactly what freckle to bite to make Will’s toes curl and spine shiver was certainly fun. His adjusting spices and cooking to perfectly suit Will’s palate was endearing. But Hannibal’s otherworldly ability to pick out the perfect present for Will was downright obnoxious.

The first year after the fall, Will had braced for Christmas. He had expected lavish gifts — gaudy things that would be too much for someone of Will’s taste. He had sneered when Hannibal brought home packages, muttering to himself about ostentatious displays and peacocking men. He made a point to only get Hannibal a practical gift, something Will could use to show Hannibal he didn’t want his frippery.

On Christmas, Will schooled his face as he opened the first package, ready to give a lecture on the uselessness of a solid gold butt plug or whatever the fuck Hannibal had spent six hours shopping for. He felt like a total asshole when he found himself holding a roofing nailer. Will looked up in shock and Hannibal immediately frowned.

“You said you wanted to re-shingle the roof this spring. I thought this was the proper nail gun. I looked it up on several building sites and Juan assured me it was correct before I had him order-”

“It’s perfect.” Will wanted to cry. Every single package was just what he needed, from a Heavy Duty Hammer Tacker to an air compressor, not a golden butt plug in sight. Hannibal had even gotten Will new lure wire and the harness he’d been looking at to help their terrier Martin keep from pulling on the leash. “I thought you’d get me a suit or like a diamond-encrusted dog collar.”

Hannibal’s head tilted in amusement. “Those would be presents for me.”

“I… _uh_ …thank you, darlin’,” Will mumbled, tucking his head down. “These are all wonderful.”

“Of course, my love.” Hannibal leaned in for a kiss, scooping up the present Will had left under the tree for him.

“NO! D-don’t…It’s not ready yet.” Will snatched at the present, but Hannibal evaded his hands.

“It’s wrapped.” Hannibal peeled back a corner of wrapping paper. “It seems perfectly ready.”

Will winced when Hannibal opened the box and pulled out a pair of sock garters. “I’m sor-”

“Thank you, Will, these are very thoughtful.” Hannibal pressed another kiss to Will’s cheek, rising and leaving the room. “I’ll get breakfast started, shall I?”

* * *

Will had felt so bad about the whole day he’d let Hannibal kill six people in the new year. He also found himself sidling up to Hannibal in the kitchen every morning, laying nipping kisses on the cannibal’s neck with such open affection that Hannibal almost never opened his curio shop on time. Though that, Will had to admit was more a present for both of them than one for Hannibal.

Still, he entered the next holiday season determined to get Hannibal the perfect gift. Martin had broken one of Hannibal’s favorite Incan artifacts. Honestly, it was more Will’s misaimed toss that sent the vase falling to the ground, but Will blamed the dog like a kid when he saw Hannibal’s horrified face. But there had been no bloodshed, not even a murderous sulk. Hannibal had merely sighed, looking heartbroken at the shards on the floor before calling Martin over to inspect his paws for cuts. Will had watched, chest tight, as the man he loved tenderly picked little bits of priceless pottery out of Martin’s paws, sternly telling him he must be more careful.

Will had secreted away the pieces of the vase, taking them to an antiques restorer in town and paying an obscene amount of money to have the damn thing restored. At least he’d have a Christmas present worthy of Hannibal.

On Christmas, Will had held out the vase, smiling broadly. Hannibal’s eyes had lit up and Will finally felt like he’d done something right.

Until Hannibal had offered Will the envelope.

Two tickets to New Orleans, and a charter boat that would take them fishing for a week.

“I admit I went overboard with the boat rental, but I wanted a decent kitchen so I could cook your favorite dishes straight off the pier, just like your father used to.” Hannibal grinned. “Also I’m fascinated by the chicory coffee you keep mentioning, though I reserve the right to bring my emergency espresso maker in our luggage-”

Will looked at him, blinking. Eight months ago, Will had one too many and ended up in Hannibal’s lap, bemoaning the lack of étouffée and gumbo in Uruguay. He’d woken up with a headache and Hannibal tucked around his back, murmuring assurances that crying about his lost father and lost dishes of his childhood wasn’t mortifying at all.

Will cleared his throat, something terrifyingly like tears stealing his air. “You hate fishing.”

“I love you.”

“Hannibal-”

He was kissed thoroughly. Hannibal pressing him to the wall and invading his senses until he barely felt his tears or the nagging feeling that once again he’d been shown up in the gift department.

To his credit, Hannibal did display Will’s restored vase in the kitchen — on a high shelf this time. But Will still felt that he hadn’t given his gift enough thought.

* * *

The next year was worse.

Will had carved _In that book which is my memory…On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’_ into a piece of driftwood. It was a piece he picked up their first week in Uruguay. The first night he’d mustered up enough courage to take Hannibal’s hand and drag him to bed. The next morning Hannibal had wanted to stay in Will’s bed, but Will had dragged him up — wanting to see Hannibal on their beach when the first rays of sunlight fell upon the sea. They’d kissed in the warming sand and Will had picked up a piece of wood, making a furrow in the sand as he hauled it to the lanai, Hannibal playfully complaining that Will now collected stray rubbish as well as stray animals.

Still, Will was confident that this year he’d finally give Hannibal the best present. He had a whole 20 minutes with that thought until Hannibal came banging into the house, soaked to the bone and shushing Martin as the dog barked at the commotion.

“Martin, please! Will! I need you to run a bath!”

“Merry Christmas to you t-” Will stopped short. Hannibal was dripping wet, something small curled in his arms. “Hannibal?”

“I should have taken him sooner, I wanted to wait until Christmas, but the rain.” Hannibal held out a shivering ball of matted brown fur. The dog was young and clearly underfed. It was also freezing. Will pressed the dog to his neck, humming softly as he moved to the bathroom.

“A stray?”

Hannibal shook his head, stripping out of his coat and carefully hanging it on the bathroom towel rack as Will filled a bathtub and plopped the shaking creature into the warm water. Martin stood on his hind legs to get a better look over the rim of the tub, poking at the new visitor with his paw.

“I saw him tied in a backyard last week. I came back the next day to find his owner attempting to hit him with a switch. Though he bore the brunt of it, he never cowered,” Hannibal paused looking over his shoulder. “Which reminds me, dinner is in the trunk. Can you handle David on your own?”

Will snorted. “Can you drag Goliath in on your own?”

“I believe so.” Hannibal placed a wet kiss on Will’s cheek. The doctor’s lips were cold and Will made a mental note to run his cannibal a warm bath of his own later tonight. “Merry Christmas, Will.”

Will spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning David and making sure Martin would behave around their new pack member. The dog was likely a mastiff or Rottweiler mix, and Will wondered if Hannibal knew he’d invited such a large animal into a home filled with breakables. When Hannibal emerged from their shed with a pair of kidneys and a liver, Will wrapped him in a warm hug and began nibbling along the tendon on the doctor’s neck.

“I love my present, thank you.”

“Dinner will be late if you don’t allow me to prep.”

“Hmmm,” Will slid a hand down Hannibal’s stomach, fingers playing lightly at Hannibal’s belt. “I like you when you’re not prepped.”

Hannibal grinned. “Is this my Christmas present, Will? Because I must admit I’m tempted to unwrap it.”

“OH!” Will yanked Hannibal to the study. The doctor allowed himself to be tugged, as always content to follow where Will led. “In all the excitement I forgot! You’re gonna love it this year!”

“David seems to.” Will squinted at Hannibal in confusion until the doctor nodded toward the floor. The puppy had ripped the paper away from Will’s carving and was busily gnawing on the corner.

“David! No!” The dog wagged his tail at Will, sinking his teeth into the word book. Will reached down, prying the gift from David’s mouth. It was a mess, but he let it go when Hannibal reached for it. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

The doctor studied the wood, humming quietly to himself. “Merry Christmas, darling boy.”

Hannibal looked at the dog rolling in torn wrapping paper. “I think we’ve given you the wrong name. Dante, come.”

The puppy leaped to his feet and followed Hannibal to the kitchen.

* * *

Will passed the slightly deformed carving on his way to the back door. Hannibal had insisted it was the nicest present he’d ever received and hung the damn thing over the doorway to the kitchen. _My heart over my heart_ Hannibal had told him, with that small coiling smile Will loved so well. He wouldn’t hear of letting Will try to restore it. _In this family, we treasure our scars._

Lifting his hand as he crossed the threshold, Will touched the gnawed wood, the splintered surface; a reminder of the perfect imperfections he’d found for himself. It had become a little ritual for both of them, tapping the plaque before either entered the kitchen. Silly really, the little habits they’d formed over the years.

He smiled at the delivery man as he signed for a large box that was sitting in the back garden. On the box was stamped “CAUTION: LIVE POULTRY”, Martin and Dante circled it curiously, pawing gently when they could see movement between the slats. Will _tsked_ shooing them from the box. There were a few more on the truck he’d need to inspect before Hannibal got home.

“This Christmas I’m getting him a good gift,” Will said, stroking Dante’s flopping ear. “And you better keep your teeth to yourself, buddy.”

The dog huffed softly, following Will as he dollied the box to the garden shed.

* * *

Hannibal wheezed, back pressed to the garden shed door. His ripped sweater hung in hanks, a cut on the bridge of his nose was weeping fat rivulets of blood. Fuck, Will hoped Hannibal’s nose wasn’t broken.

“The window!” Hannibal shouted, still keeping his weight on the door as he gestured at the open window at the back of the shed. Will launched himself from the floor where he was huddled with the whining dogs, grabbing at the winch and winding for all he was worth. An ominous hissing sounded just below the frame and Will managed to just close the window before his fingers were attacked.

Hannibal sighed. Letting his body slump even as the door continued to jostle behind him. He licked his lips, tonguing the stream of blood as he watched Will. “All things considered, Will, I think I preferred being flung off a cliff.”

Will whirled, yanking at his own torn shirt. He’d taken the brunt of the attack as Hannibal tried to get Martin to safety. He held up his bleeding hand. “YOU THINK I PLANNED THIS?”

“You handed me a box of exploding poultry!”

“It didn’t explode, they were just angry I put them in a box.”

“I’m not thrilled you did either, Will.” Hannibal sank to the floor. Martin immediately ran to Hannibal’s side, holding up his paw for inspection. Hannibal took it, gently caressing the dog’s fur before ruffling his ears. “You’ll live my brave boy. Your father, however...”

The sun was beating into the shed, sweat pooling at the small of Will’s back. At this rate they’d die of heat exhaustion, which to be fair, was an end neither had predicted. Will wiped his brow. “Look, it was supposed to be romantic, like the song.”

“You’ll have to remind me of the song about geese attacks, I’m afraid.” Hannibal jumped. Will saw a beak snapping under the door gap. Hannibal ushered Martin away from the door, keeping a foot propped against it, just in case. Will took advantage of Hannibal’s proximity, letting his head fall onto the doctor’s shoulder.

“Six geese a-laying,” Will muttered, momentarily grateful that the sharp tools were too far from Hannibal to be any real threat.

Hannibal turned just the same, that imperious eyebrow high and a vein throbbing in his forehead. “This is my fault. I let your encephalitis linger too long. That’s the only explanation for why your fevered brain would skip over five golden rings in favor of a box of psychotic birds.”

Will muttered something, stubbornly picking downy feathers out of Dante’s collar.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.”

“Come now, Will. We’re about to experience death via pâté — surely we should have no secrets.”

Will closed his eyes. “I didn’t skip over anything.”

“Are you telling me there are also swans wandering the grounds?”

Will nodded. “And French hens.”

“What happened to the calling birds?”

“Flew off.”

“Turtle doves?”

Will pulled a face. “Martin knocked the cage over and Dante _uh_ …got them before you.”

“I suppose I know why you wanted to have Christmas in the back garden, now.” Hannibal pressed his lips together. “So if my math is correct, we have 13 aggressive avians between us and the house?”

Will let his head fall back. “Merry Christmas, Hannibal.”

Long fingers wrapped around Will’s elbow, pulling him up. “Come. We battled a dragon. Surely we can fight off poultry.”

Hannibal grabbed a broom and tossed Will a rake. “Martin, Dante? I recommend you don’t stray from the pack.”

Will laughed. “You’re sure?”

“If nothing else, our demise at the hands of six geese will be the greatest gift we could ever give to Freddie Lounds.” Hannibal held his broom aloft. “Once more unto the breach, dear Will?”

“I’m going to let them eat you.”

Hannibal smiled, throwing open the door and swiping at the flurry of feathers that greeted them.

* * *

“Are they gone?” Will kept his back to the tree, rake still clutched in his hands.

Hannibal wheezed, feathers clinging to his face and hair. “They may be regrouping with the swans. At least we have a path back to the house, now.”

“Hannibal, before we go inside, I shou-” Something hit Will, making him jump and wave his rake in an arc. “What the hell was that?”

Hannibal toed at the object, Dante falling upon it and devouring it. “I believe it was a pear.”

“Shit. ARE WE UNDER THE PEAR TREE?”

Hannibal tightened his grip on the broom. “Why?”

A menacing warble shook the branches above them.

* * *

“GET MARTIN.” Will poked at a hissing swan as the world’s stupidest terrier continued to snap at it. Hannibal dragged the dog back, shoving Will behind him before slamming the door and locking it. Will looked at him, wide-eyed. Hannibal’s sweater was hanging off of him in hanks of shredded yarn, cuts and bruises were littering his arms and legs. To be fair, the geese and swans had put up a valiant resistance, but most of the damage had been done by Dante, who attempted to climb Hannibal to evade a goose that outflanked him. Hannibal Lecter could fight Jack Crawford and the Great Red Dragon, but he was no match for 130 lbs of terrified mutt.

The doctor wheeled on Will. “You are banned from ever purchasing me a gift again.”

“Hannibal, about the-”

“Furthermore, if you ever attempt to get me a gift, I will call the FBI and personally see to it I’m locked away in a cell you’ll never be able to access.”

“Hannibal, I… there’s mor-”

“I cannot fathom what more there could possibly-”

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”

“Will?”

“A partridge in a pear tree. On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeeeee…”

“Will, please tell me that’s a recording.”

Will opened his mouth, but it was too late. Eight women carrying pales of milk marched into the kitchen smiling as they sang. Behind them, dancing women and jumping men were filing in the door. Martin barked. Dante hid in the pantry. Will was considering whether or not there was room for him to cower behind their giant dog when a crash was heard.

“Uh sorry? Mr. Hamilton? A vase broke,” called a voice from the back of the throng.

Hannibal turned to Will, eyes wide.

“I can explain. You liked the song… and in the song-” Will pointed to the men. “They’re a-leaping.”

A feather fell from Hannibal’s bangs, floating between them as the carolers continued to fill the room.

“Anyone you want to survive the day should be sent home in the next 10 minutes.” Hannibal stretched his neck, another feather flying free from his hair. “I’m going to take a shower, and there better be one Graham a-cleaning when I come downstairs.”

In a whirl of feathers and torn yarn, Hannibal spun on his heel and headed for the stairs. Will watched him go, arm around Dante. “We probably shouldn’t tell him he split his pants, huh buddy?”

* * *

It took Will the better part of a day to pick up the pieces of the Incan vase, clean and wax the floors, and shoo the geese to the outdoor pen he’d built them. The swans were still guarding Hannibal’s vegetable patch, but Will would deal with that tomorrow.

He banged into the kitchen to find Hannibal stood over a roasting pan. “Hey, I’ve got it mostly under control, though I think we lost a goose.”

“No, we didn’t.” Hannibal turned, holding a roasting pan filled with a bird that would not be a-laying ever again.

“Oh, _uh_ …no wonder it was easier to get them in.” There was still a downy white feather embedded in Hannibal’s hair, but Will didn’t think it was a good idea to mention that right now.

He crept closer to Hannibal, who was putting the goose in their oven. Will counted the knives in the block before risking leaning on the kitchen island near Hannibal. “So _uh_ , you always get me the best presents.”

Hannibal said nothing, brushing past Will to add some herbs to a sauce. Will rolled his eyes, moving to lean next to him. “And I guess I just wanted to get you something impressive.”

“I assure you, an impression was made.” Hannibal had a bandage over the bridge of his nose and Will resisted the urge to kiss it.

“I’m trying to tell you there was a slight screw-up.”

“Screw-up?” Hannibal straightened. Will had to bite back a smile as his cannibal puffed up like the geese currently hissing menacingly at Martin from their pen. “What part of this debacle would you classify as a screw-up, Will — the seven swans who will be a-drowning if they’ve destroyed my radishes, the total strangers we had carrying buckets of milk and drumming through our halls, or perhaps the partridge that has ruined the last of the winter pears?”

Will cocked his head, sinking a hand into his pocket. “I was talking about the rings.”

“What?” Hannibal huffed.

Will brought his hand up, two polished gold bands sparkling in the low light. “I miscounted, only got two.”

Hannibal froze. Will counted to ten in his head, smiling when Hannibal blinked at eight. The doctor’s eyes darted from Will’s to the rings, then to the doorway as if he expected a new wave of carolers.

“You OK, there, darlin’?” Hannibal was focused on the rings again, the bands reflecting in his amber eyes.

Will’s cannibal swallowed. “I’m trying to recall why I’m so furious with you.”

“Probably because I saw a goose kick your ass today,” Will grinned. A hand snatched at Will’s curls, dragging him into a hard kiss.

“Put that ring on my finger before you join the goose in the roaster,” Hannibal growled.

“Yessir.” Will slipped the band on Hannibal’s hand, kissing the ring once it cleared his husband’s knuckle. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Never get me another gift again, Will.” Hannibal slipped the ring on Will’s finger, pulling him back into a kiss.


End file.
